


Unspoken

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Points of View, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by O.R. MeltonIn the early morning before the hobbits set out from Crickhollow, Pippin contemplates Merry.
Relationships: Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or locations portrayed in this heretical plagiate of Prof. J.R.R. Tolkien's literary and mythological work of genius, 'The Lord of the Rings'. I do, however, think the hobbits were clandestinely shagging each-other for the whole duration of the Quest, and before and after. That belief belongs to me.  
> Story Notes: First piece of writing I've actually completed in this fandom. Do tell me what you think.

I open my eyes to darkness.  
For a moment I wonder where I am, and why exactly I'm awake. I hear quiet breathing that isn't my own, and note the soft heat radiating off the body next to mine. Ah, right. Crickhollow, that's where we are, and it must be morning, or some semblance of it. I would rather go back to sleep directly, maybe see if I can get away with putting my arms around him, nestling my face in his hair. But there's a certain urgency to even this stuffy dark, and I am excited at the prospect of travel. I should like to see his face before he wakes, I think. The shutters are closed, but opening them doesn't result in any more light, it's not even dawn yet. But I do open the window for some fresh air. It's quite cold on my skin, and the hinges creak, but he doesn't seem to notice. I pad back to the bed and grope for the candle he set beside it last night. Another bit of fumbling for and with the tinder box, and I have it lit. I clamber back onto the soft, heavy comforter and hold up the small light. He's still asleep.  
His head is turned to the side on the pillow, his brown hair sticking out at every angle, curling down just past his chin. His mouth is wine-stained, a dark ring on his lips, which are parted a little. I wonder if he snores. And whether I'd notice if he did. I want to touch his lips, trace them with my fingers. But that would wake him, probably. So I stay where I am, sitting crosslegged and letting the candle drip yellow wax on my fingers. He's quite handsome, really. With that straight nose and high forehead. And the tiny laugh-lines at the corners of his eyes. His lashes are straight and dark and they flutter a little as he exhales. I feel my chest tighten and wonder at it. There's a thought at the back of my mind, something sweet and aching, and I quash it down before it can surface. Of course I'd never tell him he's beautiful. He'd laugh, and I'd laugh too and feel like a complete and utter idiot. We haven't ever traded silly promises or sentimental banter, and that's just fine with me. We have something of an unspoken arrangement. Ever since that night I kissed him, at Fatty's birthday party; a drunken and clumsy kiss, and he kissed me back. He's looking at me. His hazel eyes are still foggy with sleep, the pupils dark and wide.

"Morning, Pip" he says.

"Morning, yourself."

Will he be cross that I didn't go back to my own bed?

"What're you staring at me for?"

"You look as if you'd been ground through a mill."

"Not the morning glory yourself, actually."

He grins, shows those straight white teeth of his.

"You have wax on your fingers. What time is it?"

"Don't know. Well before dawn."

"That much I could tell. Light along over there so that I can see the clock."

He stretches and peers at the ponderous thing standing against the wall.

"Nearly four. Well, that's not too late, then."

I want to put my arms around his neck, taste the breath that is probably even worse than mine - he had some of the Old Winyards along with the ale and mushrooms last night. I wonder if he's regretting it.  
The wine, that is.

"We should be getting washed up. D'you think Frodo's awake yet?"

I perch on the edge of the bed and set the candle on the low chest of drawers beside it. He peers at me through the gloom.

"Him? Never. Takes nothing short of a battery of fireworks to wake Mr. Baggins before ten. That or the smell of breakfast cooking. "

My hand reaches out of its own accord and smoothes a strand of hair out of his eyes. It's soft and a little greasy.  
He blinks, and I do so want to kiss his eyelids.

"Fancy there's any seedcakes left?" I ask, and my hand rests on his smooth jaw.

"A few, maybe, if Fatty's not up yet. Which he's not, most certainly. What's on your mind, Pip?"

I nearly say 'you', but that won't do at all.

"Nothing much. I suppose I should be frightened of what's ahead, but at the moment I'm too tired and hungry to give it much thought."

"You wouldn't be so tired if you hadn't crept into my bed last night and kept us both up."

He's smirking at me, and perhaps his eyes sparkle in the weak candle light. I shrug, and drop my hands to my knees.

"I was just thinking practically, cousin - who knows when we'll have another chance?"

"A good point you have there."

He leans in just a bit, and I know he's teasing, his warm breath damp on my face, but my lips part on their own, and the smile is stuck quite firmly on his face as he says:

"Since we can't do anything for your fatigue, let's at least get your belly filled, so you don't nag everyone's ears off later."

He slides off the bed with more energy than he's yet shown today, I can see his fine, naked back as he searches for his clothes. I remain sitting on the bed and watch his supple movements. As he's pulling on his breeches, something wells up in me, bitter and cloying. Something that doesn't want him to leave this room, ever, or not until I've told him...what? What is there to say, after all, after spending a night of pleasure before the beginning of a perilous venture?

"Merry..."

Not much, really.

"What is it, Pip?"

It nearly makes me choke.

"Nothing. Come here. Give me a kiss."

And he does.

* * *

Outside, the crisp, damp air makes me shiver in my coat and weskit as we're leading out the ponies. There's grey light out, now, and my stomach can't complain, having been thoroughly attended to. Sam and Frodo are a little ways ahead, and behind us Fatty stands on the porch, sleepy but resolute to 'see us off', waving a large checkered handkerchief. I raise my hand to wave back, and Merry smiles at me, and I recall the pliant full lips against mine. We are going into the Old Forest, into the Wild, towards unknown danger, and yet most of my mind is taken up by him alone, the thin taut skin just behind his ear and the way his eyes narrow to almond-shaped slits when he's laughing. It must have been somewhere during breakfast that I decided, and the decision frightens me more than even the Forest. I shall have to take him aside at some point, and tell him. I must, else it will break me.  
And then?  
Perhaps he'll laugh.  
And maybe I shall kiss him again, and pretend it is the first time.


End file.
